


Angel of the Morning

by tini_dancer



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King, It Chapter Two (2019)
Genre: Angels, Comedian Richie Tozier, Dead Eddie Kaspbrak, Derry, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Guardian Angels, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Post-Canon, Protectiveness, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, after it chapter two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-19 12:58:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20657645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tini_dancer/pseuds/tini_dancer
Summary: That voice, that fucking voice, was driving him nuts. Not in a bad way, but in a confusing way. Where the fuck did it come from? Never did Richie really think things through before. Never did he have the confidence to flat out tell Lane that he wanted to write his own material. Never did he actually go off script at a show and wing it. But that last one led to some of the most genuine laughs Richie had ever heard from an audience. But still, what the literal fuck?ORAfter Richie goes home, a little voice in his head helps him get back on his feet. But that little voice is WAY more than just a little voice.OREddie becomes Richie's guardian angel.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *if not obvious IT CHAPTER TWO SPOILERS  
**this was a spur of the moment idea please let me know if it sucks  
***title comes from "Angel of the Morning" by Juice Newton (song that played when Eddie got puked on)

_ What the fuck am I supposed to do? _

That is all Richie could think while on the plane home. Well, he knew what his next steps were...in technicality. He would get home, have a meeting with his manager that was definitely going to scream at him for not only bombing his last show but skipping town for almost a week without telling him, and do a few shows that were booked at theaters around LA. But mentally...what the fuck?

Going back to Derry royally screwed with his brain in more ways than one. And the images he saw in the deadlights were permanently tattooed into his brain. All of the death. All of the loneliness. All of the horror. He saw exactly what Beverly had when she was younger: all of their fatal ends. He witnessed Stan’s suicide, Ben falling off of the top of scaffolding, Mike’s alcohol poisoning, Bill being shot by an angry superfan, Bev’s abusive ex-husband choking her, himself falling off stage at a show, and Eddie being impaled. He saw it hundreds of times on loop at a million miles per hour. 

And then Eddie’s demise came less than 10 seconds after snapping out of the deadlights. He didn’t even have the time to comprehend his surroundings when blood splattered all over his body and Eddie was dangling above him, giant claw protruding from his chest.

Boy, that image was never going to leave his head.

The person next to him must really hate him because Richie had not been able to sit still for the entire flight. He had completely forgotten about his ADHD medicine while in Derry and his mental state outside of that did not help. His foot was tapping and he was drumming on his thighs with his hands. He was exhausted from the week, and the flight was not short, but he was afraid of falling asleep and seeing it all even more than he did while awake.

Eventually the plane did land in Los Angeles. Richie went back to his home, a loft apartment in downtown that he never kept clean. He was lucky that the only person that ever came over was Lane, his manager. He knew Richie better than most other people. Only the Losers knew the real Richie Tozier. He threw his duffle bag on the floor and collapsed on the couch. He felt so happy to be out of Maine and to somewhere more recently familiar. Derry had the nostalgia, but LA had the comfort.

He did eventually fall asleep in that position. It was dreamless at first, just blackness that made the sleep feel shorter than it actually was. But then it hit. He saw the claw through Eddie’s chest again. He saw Bev’s face go pale in Tom Rogan’s hands. He saw Bill’s shirt soaked in blood. He felt himself trip and fall, and the churn of his stomach caused him to wake up with a jolt and fall off the couch, banging his head on the coffee table. As his brain stopped rattling, he heard the front door open. Clutching his skull, Richie saw Lane enter with his arms crossed.

“Welcome home, Rich,” he said in a dull tone, “Care to tell me where the fuck you’ve been for the past six days?”

“You aren’t going to even ask why I’m on the floor?”

Lane shook his head, “You’ve surprised me lately.”

Richie stood up and went to the kitchen, Lane following. He grabbed a bottle of red wine from the cooler and poured it into a glass, then grabbing some pain killers and his adderall. 

“Where did you go, Rich? You didn’t answer any of my calls while you were gone. I almost thought you were dead.”

“Lane, it’s been a rough week,” Richie said, popping the pills and using the wine to wash them down, “can we please push the ‘I’m seriously worried about you’ speech to tomorrow?”

“No, because I am worried,” Lane leaned against the counter, “You fuck up a show, which you never do, then leave before you can sign autographs, and then I get a call from a friend saying they saw you at the airport. Rich, you need to be honest with me.”   
  


Richie sighed. He knew he couldn’t be honest. Honesty is telling Lane that he fought a killer clown in the sewers and lost his first and only love die right in front of him. Honesty was a no. A stretch of the truth though…?

“Before my show I got a call from an old friend of mine,” Richie explained, taking another sip of wine, “we were friends when we were kids. There was a group of us. He said that our friend had killed himself earlier in the week and that we should all go back home to mourn him together. We did that. It was hard. But, to add to that, another friend got into a horrible car accident and died. We lost two of the ‘Lucky Seven’ in one week. So, yeah, I’m a mess because two of my best friends from childhood died.”

Lane was speechless. Richie downed the rest of his wine and put the glass in the sink, returning the bottle to the cooler. In that moment, deep down, he realized how fucked up everything really was. Lane was in shock over something nowhere near as insane as the truth was. Richie couldn’t imagine the reaction if he had told him the truth. He bet it would have ended up with him being driven to a therapist. 

He probably needed a therapist.

“Rich, I am so sorry,” Lane said, “I can’t imagine what you’re going through. When are the funerals? So we can plan accordingly.”

Richie shook his head, “The wife of the friend that died in the wreck hated that he left in the first place. She’s refusing any of us to attend. And Mike, the friend that called me, found out about our friend’s suicide by seeing the obituary on the internet. We missed it. So, no need to adjust.”

Lane walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder, “If you need a few more days, take them. But eventually you need to get back to work. You have a show next Wednesday and a meeting with the writers on Thursday. Just remember to keep up with your meds and be ready. I know you can do it.”

He patted his shoulder then made his way out, leaving Richie alone in the kitchen with unwashed dishes in the sink. He eyed them, the pile of smelly plates and glasses. He usually didn’t wash the dishes until Sunday, but these were more than gross. Richie didn’t usually care. But there was something inside of him telling him otherwise.

“ _ Those are disgusting, Rich. Why the fuck do you do that to yourself? Put them in the dishwasher, for God’s sake.” _

So he did. He even pre-washed them with a sponge and dish soap before running the washer. Twice. Never had he done that before, but he did it. He had to admit, all of the extra washing paid off, because never did his dishes look that clean, and he wasn’t mad about it. It felt nice for something to be clean. 

Maybe Lane was right. Richie needed to get his shit together.


	2. Chapter 2

“It’s so weird,” Richie said, his mouth full noodles. He had ordered Chinese takeout, now that he could stand to look at a fortune cookie, “I spent all weekend cleaning my apartment, and I didn’t hate it. Does that sound like me?”

“Absolutely not,” Bill laughed on the screen. He looked tired, Richie noted, probably from writing. He told the Losers that he had inspiration for a new book, and he actually knew how it was going to end. Spoiler, he was going to write a happy ending. That made all of them smile.

Richie swallowed and picked through the box for some meat, “My place has never been so...shiny. I even went out and bought a mop to clean my floors. I have no clue what came over me. I thought cleaning was the coping mechanism for people with OCD, not ADHD.”

“Sometimes it’s nice to refresh after trauma, I guess,” Bill said, “when I got home, I bought Audra this necklace she had been wanting. I thought it was tacky and not very her, but I realized how big of a dick I was being and got it anyways. It had been a while since I’d seen her that happy with me.”

“I bet y’all fucked good that night,” Richie teased. Bill laughed.

“Beep beep, Rich. But to answer your question, yes, we did.”

Richie punched a fist into the air, gripping his chopsticks, “I knew it! Atta boy, Billy.”

Bill bit his lip, “I, uh, told her about Georgie. Not the whole truth, just that he was killed when I was little. Since I didn’t remember anything from Derry before, I never told her. It felt good to be somewhat honest. Since then, I feel like we’ve never been closer.”

Nodding, Richie smiled lightly, “She seems amazing.”

“She really is,” Bill blushed a light pink, “I can’t believe I didn’t see that before. I think going back home opened my eyes.”

Richie looked around his now almost spotless apartment. It was barely recognizable in a way. It didn’t feel like his own home at first glance, but after the deep cleaning the couch suddenly become softer and his bed warmer. It was safer.

“Me too,” is all Richie said.

They were quiet for a few seconds, then Bill spoke, “Hey, did you get the letter?”

“Yeah,” Richie said, “I think I cried more than a man should be proud of.”

“Stan always knew exactly what to say,” Bill smiled, “I framed mine. It’s here in my office. What about you?”

“It’s folded in a drawer in my room. I’m going to have to do something with it before I lose it. I don’t want to do that.”

“ _ You should get a lockbox and put it in there. _ ”

Richie pondered over the idea. He had no clue where that came from, but it didn’t suck. There would be no way of anything happening if it were locked away.

“You okay, Rich?”

Richie nodded, “Yeah, sorry, just lost in thought.”

He thought back on what the letter said. To be proud of who you are and not to be afraid of what life could throw at you. Not to be safe, but brave. Not in a physical sense, but an emotional one. Fear ruled over Stan’s life, and it landed him in a horrible place. Richie didn’t want that happening to him.

_ “You should tell him _ ,” the small voice in his head said, “ _ He’s your friend, Rich. Bill has always been extremely accepting. He’ll understand. _ ”

It wasn’t wrong. Bill was always kind and caring, never denying someone help. Richie remembered when they met Ben for the first time and how Bill insisted they take him into town and get stuff to fix him. If it weren’t for Bill, Ben and Bev would have never joined the Losers Club.

“Hey, uh, Bill,” Richie said, “I need to tell you something.”

Bill sat up in his chair a little, “What is it, buddy?”   
  


Richie fumbled over his words, “Well, I don’t  _ need  _ to tell you, I just want to. I mean, I think you’ll understand. Or be understanding, is a better way to put it. Ah shit, what am I saying?”

“Get to the point, Richie.”

“Bill…” Richie sighed, covered his face, then said, “I’m gay.”

There was a pause, and then, “Rich, please uncover your face.”   
  


He did so, and he saw Bill smiling. Not overly enthusiastic, but warm. Accepting. Full of love. Richie felt a weight leave his body.

“I take that smile as you saying you aren’t homophobic.”

Bill nodded, “Yeah, dumbass. I don’t care that you’re gay. You’re still our Trashmouth, no matter who you want to fuck.”

Richie couldn’t hide his wide smile, “Thank you, Bill. Really, thank you. You are the first person I have ever told.”

“You serious?”

“Yeah,” Richie said, “I’ve never told another soul. But I’m happy I told you.”

“Me too,” Bill nodded, “Well, I gotta go. Audra should be home soon and she has been craving steak for days. It’s about time I take her somewhere fancy. Talk to you later?”

“Yeah, totally. Just call whenever. I’ll most likely answer.”

Bill nodded, “Shut up, Trashmouth. Talk to you later.”

“Bye-bye Bill!” 

And the call cut off. Riche sat back on the couch. It felt good to be out, even to only one person. 27 years of repression and self hate, and his first coming out experience was good. Better than good. He chuckled to himself over the stupidity of being so happy over one thing. It had been a while since he let himself laugh.

“ _ You should tell the rest now. You know they’ll be cool with it. It’s the Losers, Richie. You know them. They’ll be fine _ .”

So he did. He texted Mike, and he sent back a long text about how much he loves him and supports him. Richie knew Mike was always such a sap. He called Ben, whom of which was with Beverly, and told them both. They both told him they were proud of him for telling them. He and Ben shared a moment where they bonded over Henry Bowers bullying them for the things that made them different. 

He wished he could have told Eddie.

Eddie would have been supporting. Maybe not as much as the other Losers, but he wouldn’t have casted Richie out of his life over being a homo. It would have been harder, though. It’s easier to tell people who are only friends to you. To Richie, Eddie was so much more. He was the cute hypochondriac who always looked out for his friends. He was the prepared one of the group, and the fact he turned out to be a risk analyst did not surprise Richie at all. Eddie was always knew what was possible. Which probably meant Eddie could have already known about Richie’s sexualility, especially when they all went back. Richie was famous, a “ladies man” as a kid, and very single. It could not have been hard for Eddie to predict.

Richie stood up to use the bathroom, but stopped when that damned little voice said, “ _ Throw away your trash, Richie. You don’t want bugs, do you? _ ”

So he threw away his Chinese food. That voice, which seemed to be a new addition to Richie’s brain, had some good ideas and points. It helped him get through a dreaded meeting with his writers and, because of it, his first show since coming home went really well. No puking whatsoever. It was helping him get back on his feet.

It didn’t help with the nightmares, but hey, they weren’t as vivid as they had been before.

Seemed like Bill was right about going home. It changed Richie. He wasn’t sure if it was for the better or worse, but it was change. Change had to be good, right?


	3. Chapter 3

Okay, he had to be going crazy now. Right?

That voice, that fucking voice, was driving him nuts. Not in a bad way, but in a confusing way. Where the fuck did it come from? Never did Richie really think things through before. Never did he have the confidence to flat out tell Lane that he wanted to write his own material. Never did he actually go off script at a show and wing it. But that last one led to some of the most genuine laughs Richie had ever heard from an audience. But still, what the literal fuck?   
  


It could not have been the deadlight situation. The deadlights showed him loss and terror. The things this voice was telling him to do were mostly good and to benefit him. He really loved how clean his apartment was and that he was making an effort to keep it clean. He was happy that he was getting the chance to write at least part of his own show, something he had dreamed of for years. He even treated Lane a little nicer because of the voice, which was was led to him getting to do his own writing.

But on one quiet Tuesday morning, almost a month after Derry, Richie was sitting on his couch, laptop in lap, with a blank Google Doc blinking at him. He had been that way for an hour. He tried to think of things to write about, but his mind just wandered to Derry. The Jade of the Orient, the sewers, the deadlights...nothing good came to mind. Richie found himself literally hitting himself in the head to get those icky thoughts out of his head. He tried thinking about the positive moments of going back, like the part of dinner before they got attacked by fortune cookies and…

Wow, was there really no other happy moment of that trip? 

“ _ Of course there was, dickhead. _ ”

There it was again. Richie bonked his head again, trying to get it to go away. He didn’t want any distractions. He needed to concentrate, and that God forsaken voice was not helping whatsoever.

“ _ C’mon, man, stop trying to push me out. I’m just trying to help. _ ”

“I know,” Richie mumbled, taking his glasses off to rub his eyes. He then realized what he did. He legit spoke to the tiny voice in his head.

Time to see a therapist.

He knew Lane wouldn’t mind him asking if he had connections. It had only been a few weeks since everything happened, and grief and pain takes longer than that to go away. Even if he didn’t have the full truth, Lane knew how hard death can be. So, Richie was very relieved when he got a text from Lane saying that one of his other clients’ therapist was open for consultation that afternoon. 

His little voice was not going to have a say in this. No matter what, he was going. He was definitely losing his goddamn mind. 

When he went he kept on the downlow. He put his hood over his head and kept his head low, though he knew that looked suspicious in itself. But it’s better to be stared at for being weird instead of being famous. He didn’t want another incident like with the kid from the Chinese restaurant.

God that was so embarrassing. 

It doesn’t help that that kid eventually got killed by Pennywise. 

He sat in the lobby of the therapist’s office jittery. And, no, he didn’t forget his adderall. He was just nervous. He was also trying to figure out how to portray his real feelings without saying the blunt truth about Derry. That would get him sent to an institution like Juniper Hills, where Henry Bowers ended up. And, though he had this annoying little voice in his head, he was not that crazy.

“Sir,” said a voice above him. He looked up to see a woman with greying black hair softly smiling at him, “I’m Genevieve Drummond. Lane said you would be coming.”

Nodding, he stood up and held out his hand, “Richard Tozier.”

Genevieve led him to her office. It was cozy and neat, like every therapist office in movies and tv. He sat in a cushy green chair that actually was super comfortable. Genevieve sat in a similar chair next to him.

“Before we get started, I just wanted to let you know that you don’t have to pour your heart out to me all at once,” Genevieve said, “I know trauma can be very hard to deal with, but in needs to be dealt with slowly. It may feel nice to let it all out, but it won’t help in the long run. So let’s start with the reason you wanted to see me.”

Richie took a deep breath, recounted what he was going to say, then realized how obvious it would be to her if it seemed like he was reading from a script. So of course he decided to ditch the whole idea and say, “Have you ever had someone come to you and say that a random conscious just popped into their head?”

Genevieve was a little taken aback. Yeah, he was direct, but shouldn’t she be used to that?

“A random conscious? Like another person, Mr. Tozier?”

Richie shrugged, “Kind of? I am fairly sure I don’t have Dissociative Identity Disorder, since signs of that usually show up early in life. I’m 40.”

“Can you describe it more? Like when it came about and what has happened?”

“About a month or so ago is when I first heard it,” Richie explained, “after I got home from a week-long trip to my hometown in Maine. I got home and this little voice in my head gave me the idea to do my dishes. Then I cleaned my whole apartment, which is pretty big. Then it kept giving me more ideas, and gave me confidence to do stuff. Because of that voice, I came out to my childhood best friends. You know, as gay.”

Genevieve leaned forward in her chair, “Lane didn’t tell me you’re gay.”

“He still doesn’t know,” Richie clarified, “Only 4 people know. Well 5 now.”

“ _ Six, dipshit. I know _ .”

Richie froze, then said, “It spoke again. Saying it knew. It counted itself as a person.”

Gevevieve cleared her throat and stood up. She went to the bookshelf on the opposite side of the room and took out a book. It looked old. Richie didn’t like where this is going.

“You’re right about DID,” she said when she came back, “that and OSDD develop during puberty. But this...this is something you will not believe.”

_ Try me, bitch _ , he thought to himself.

“ _ How much do you bet it’s something otherworldly? _ ”

Richie grunted and thought,  _ Shut up. _

Genevieve opened the book and flipped through the pages, “I’ve encountered this before. Only a few times, because it’s a rare case. I know it’s more common than I’ve seen.”

“What is it?” Richie asked, leaning to try and see what was in the book. She flipped it to him.

“Guardian Angels,” she said, pointing to the top, “When someone with a pure heart dies, they are given the option to be someone’s Guardian Angel. They rarely choose at random. They usually act like the angel on your shoulder, no pun intended. They help you through things and guide you. If an angel has chosen you, you are very lucky.”

There was a heavy silence between them. Richie read the page, taking the book into his lap. It talked about how angels choose their person because they know them and know what they need. Their voice is altered in your head, so it’s hard to recognize them if you do know them, which is more common than not. But, there are ways to physically see your angel through ritual that includes mixing your own blood with some weird shit. It seemed impossible.

Then again he did crush the heart of an alien clown whose true form was three lightbulbs. This was more chill.

_ So you’re my Guardian Angel, huh?  _ Richie thought to the voice.

“ _ Yep. Told you, otherworldly. _ ”

“Well it just proved itself to me that it is my Guardian Angel, so ding, ding, ding, Ginny, you are correct.”

Genevieve smiled and took the book back, “This is a little personal, but has anyone in your life recently passed? Like around a month ago?”

Richie sighed and nodded, “Two, actually. Two of my closest friends from Maine.”

“I bet it’s one of them. I’m sure they’d tell you.”

He shrugged and tried,  _ Care to tell me who this is? _

“ _ Nope. You gotta guess, old friend. _ ”

_ There’s only two options.  _

“ _ Yeah. Unless a fellow comedian has kicked the bucket at the same time I did _ .”

Richie tried to study his words, now knowing it was indeed a guy. He was sarcastic a good amount of the time, but was super helpful. He liked things clean, that or he noticed that Richie was living in horrible shape and wanted his life overall to be cleaned up. Probably both. He had confidence in Richie. He knew what Richie was capable of, like he had made him laugh many times before. Suddenly, an image popped into his head. Not a bad one. It was of someone smiling. It was a smile that always made Richie feel warm inside, as kids and as adults.

Of fucking course the first thing he told him to do was wash the dishes.

He couldn’t keep it inside of his head.

“...Eddie?”

The voice laughed, and it almost seemed familiar.

“ _ Took you long enough, Trashmouth. _ ”


	4. Chapter 4

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck…” Riche kept muttering to himself all the way home from Genevieve’s office. He throws his keys and wallet on the coffee table when he gets home and sits on the couch shakily. This is impossible, but it isn’t. Eddie is living inside of his head. He’s dead, but not to him. Or whatever the fuck was going on.

“Okay...okay…” Richie slows his breath. He looks down at his fiddling fingers and says, “So tell me what the fuck is going on.”

“ _ You read the text, Rich, _ ” Eddie said, though it didn’t sound like him, “ _ When I died, I was given the chance to live on, in a way. There was this...thing. Maturin was his name. He let me choose to live on as someone’s Guardian Angel. And I chose you. _ ”

Richie shook his head, “I would say this is crazy, but then I remember what the fuck else has happened in my life.”

“ _ Well it is crazy. You think I wasn’t freaked out when I, quote-unquote, woke up in a void? And next thing I know I’m next to you on a plane. I had no fucking clue what to do. _ ”

“Wait, what do you mean ‘next to me’? Aren’t you in my head?”

Eddie made a noise that showed he was contemplating, “ _ To you, I guess. To me, I’m sitting right next to you on this couch. Like if I were still alive. It’s like I’m a ghost and you can’t see me, only hear me. And not really me, you hear some fucked up version of my voice. _ ”

Richie took off his glasses and moved to be laying down on the couch, “Did I lay on you?”   
  


“ _ No I moved, asshat. I’m standing up now. _ ”

“Why didn’t you become your wife’s Guardian Angel?” Richie asked with his eyes closed, “I’m sure she misses you more than anything. She probably would have been happy to still have you around.”

_ “There are multiple reasons why I did not choose Myra, _ ” Eddie said matter-of-factly. Richie knew that voice well. He went on, “ _ First of all, she is just like my mother. Like almost a spitting image of her- _ ”

“Sexy,” Richie smirked, and he knew that Eddie would have smacked him he could.

“ _ She has spent our whole marriage controlling me. The last thing she would want, and that I would want, is me controlling her. Secondly, she doesn’t know how I died, I think. I don’t know what you guys told the police. _ ”

Richie rolled to his side, “We didn’t say anything. I think you are technically still ‘missing’ to authorities. I don’t want in that mess.”

“ _ Figures, _ ” Eddie said, “ _ But me being her Guardian Angel would require me telling her everything. Like the total full story. I avoid that with you. Lastly, I sensed something in the sewer that day. _ ”

“You mean other than the greywater?”

Eddie sighed, “ _ Beep beep, Richie. After I got impaled, when the others went to taunt Pennywise, you stayed with me. You kept your jacket pressed to my wound. You could have tried to escape with them, bully It with them, but you didn’t. You stayed with me until you knew you couldn’t anymore. That’s when I found out how much I meant to you. At least in some sense, at the time. I know more now.” _

That’s when it hit Richie. Eddie knew. He  _ knew _ . He knew everything. Holy shit, he knew it all.

“Congratulations Eds,” Richie said shakily, “You know how helplessly and horribly in love with you I was.”

“ _ I’m not surprised. I am desirable. _ ” There was a bit of ego in that phrase.

Richie rubbed his eyes, “No joke, though. How do you feel about it?”   
  


“ _ Richie, I never married Myra because I loved her. I felt like I needed her, but I was wrong about that. But I never, ever, loved her. I’ve never felt love like that towards any woman. Men however… _ ”

Richie shot up in his spot, the whiplash plus the blurriness causing him to go dizzy. But he didn’t care. He could not believe what her was hearing.

“You’re gay,” he said. Not asked. Said.

“ _ Yes. I am. Or...was. _ ”

“I like the present tense better,” Richie said has he grabbed his glasses and put them back on, “what does that mean about...how I felt about you?”   
  


Eddie chuckled, “ _ It means that, if I were still alive, I would be making out with you _ .”

That hit Richie like an 18-wheeler. His stomach sank. There was no way this was actually happening. He was definitely going crazy. The deadlights fucked with his brain and now he has schizophrenia. Or DID. Or something. Never would he have thought of Eddie feeling the same way. It was impossible.

“ _ I know what you’re thinking, Rich, _ ” Eddie said softly, “ _ I know it’s a lot to take in. When I found out that you were in love with me, I was elated. I felt like I was thirteen again, sitting in the hammock with my foot to your face. _ ”

Richie laughed at that memory. That wasn’t the last time they shared the hammock, but nothing was quite like the first time it happened. It was the first time he had really thought about Eddie in that way. He had touched Eddie’s leg, and his heart pounded out of his chest. Someone could never forget their homosexual awakening.

“This feels like a dream,” Richie said, “it’s too good to be true.”

“ _ Richie, we’ve fought a demon-alien clown twice. I got stabbed in the face by Bowers. You fucking killed Bowers with an axe. Me reciprocating your feelings should not seem that shocking. _ ”

“But it is.”

At that moment, the front door to his apartment opened. Richie took his feet off of the sofa as Lane walked in. Of course he would walk in at this moment. Managers always seem to have the worst timing.

“Hey, Rich,” Lane grinned, “How did the meeting with Geniveve go?”

Richie cleared his throat and nodded a little, “It went good. I didn’t expect it to go as well as it did. It felt nice.”

“I hoped so,” Lane sat in a chair diagonal from the couch, “I had a few meetings with her after my sister died last year. It really helped. You could probably keep seeing her if you wish to.”

“I may,” Richie shrugged, “I’m not sure, though.”

“ _ You may have figured out about me through her, but you still got some issues, Rich. So, yes, keep going. _ ”

Richie nodded a little at Eddie’s suggestion, then said, “Yeah, I guess a few more meetings wouldn’t hurt.”

“She is a little out there, though,” Lane chuckled, “One time she told me there was the chance my sister could have become my ‘guardian angel’ or some bullshit like that.”

He stiffened. Lane knew about Guardian Angels? Richie felt a little at ease, thinking that if he had one, Richie could tell him about Eddie. If there was one thing Richie wanted to stop doing, it was keep stuff from people.

“Do you hear voices or something?” Richie asked with a little laugh, trying to not come off as serious or weird.

“Fuck no,” Lane replied, “I never did. She just assumed from as much as I loved my older sister, she would still be there for me or something. Not that Guardian Angels exist.”

“Why don’t you think they do?” Richie asked, “Just out of curiosity.”

Lane gave him a strange look, “Did you spending time with your Cub Scout troup turn you 10 again? Since when do you believe in magic?”

“ _ Can you shut him up please? _ ” Eddie groaned, “ _ If he only knew _ .”

Richie rolled his eyes, “Just answer my question.”

Lane went on, “Genieve said that a Guardian Angel is supposed to be someone with a pure soul. No one has a pure soul. Everyone sins at one point in their life. It would be impossible for there to be one even if it were possible. Also, magic does not exist. If it did, maybe both of our hairlines would have lived.”

Richie heard Eddie break down into cackles, probably to the point of tears. He almost told him to shut up out loud, but there were two things holding him back. One, Lane was there and that would have been weird, and two, he fucking loved that laugh.

“Very funny, Lane,” Richie said, “Now what is the real reason for you being here? Surely it wasn’t to poke fun at my hairline.”

“No, it was to go over the schedule for this week. You have a show on Thursday and a meeting with the writers on Friday.”

Richie groaned, “I told you, I want to start writing my own material. You know, something actually personal.”

“And you haven’t delivered,” Lane said, “Either have at least half a set by Friday or you aren’t getting any more chances. Audiences love what you perform now, Rich. What makes you want to change that?”

“I want to write more about what I actually feel,” Richie defended, “What I say on that stage is not true to me. I don’t masturbate to my girlfriend’s friend’s Facebook page, I remember the idiocracy of my childhood best friends and our times together. I don’t say cliche lines that I can’t even remember, I say too many ‘your mom’ jokes that send my best friends pushing me off of a cliff.”

“ _ So you do remember that! _ ”

Richie replied in his mind,  _ Of course I do, asshole. You are the one that pushed me _ .

He then continued to Lane, “I want my next set to be about my childhood. I revisited it, and I missed it. I promise not to let it be sad and revolve it around the death of my friends. It will be fucking hilarious. And it will be real.”

Lane sighed, “Okay, but you heard me. You have until Friday to have at least half of it done. Or else it’s a no-go. You understand me, right?”

Richie put his thumb up, “Si, senor.”

With a single nod, Lane left. Richie sat back and removed his glasses to rub his eyes.

“Eds, this is gonna be a disaster.”

“ _ No it won’t. You have the other Losers to help you. You have me. We can help you. _ ”

Richie nodded, “Where are you right now?”

“ _ Sitting next to you, on your left. Why? _ ”

“I wish I could hug you, or something. I just kinda need a hug right now.”

Richie jumped when he saw his shirt wrinkle by the shoulders on its own. There was nothing touching him, but his collar of his unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt went askew and the hair on the left side of his head flattened. 

“Eddie, are you...hugging me?”

“ _ Yeah _ ,” It was in a softer, quiet tone. It was close, “ _ Can you feel it? _ ”

“No but I can see it. I mean, see what you are doing to my shirt and stuff.”

“ _ I guess that concludes I can touch you, in a way. And you knowing. _ ”

“Yeah.”

Fuck Lane and his disbelief. Guardian Angels were real, and Eddie Kaspbrak was hugging Richie Tozier.


	5. Chapter 5

“What if I talked about the clubhouse for a while?” Richie asked, “We made a lot of memories down there.”

“ _ I would be pretty disappointed if you didn’t, not gonna lie _ ,” Eddie said, “ _ That place helped form our bond. _ ”

“Yeah, like when we teased Bill for bringing that  _ Lost Boys _ poster to hang up.”

Eddie laughed, “ _ Yeah, and we asked which Corey he was in love with. Thinking back on that now, it’s really ironic. _ ”

Richie giggled while writing down the memory on the pad of paper that was in his lap, “I was head over heels in love with Corey Haim. But that was probably because he and I shared a taste in fashion.”

“ _ Oh right, the horrid Hawaiian shirts. _ ”

“Hey, at least mine fit.” Richie argued, earning a laugh from Eddie.

Richie wrote a few more things down, like Stan’s spider-preventing shower caps and the paddleball Eddie claimed Stan broke. That lead to a very fond memory for both Richie and Eddie.

“ _ Remember the hammock? _ ” Eddie asked.

“How could I forget?” Richie blushed.

“ _ That was the day I first fell in love with you, _ ” Eddie admitted, “ _ I didn’t know why I didn’t just push you off and take the whole thing, but the way my heart fluttered when we shared it… even in those 27 years I could never forget that feeling. I could never remember the boy that made my heart melt at 13, but I remembered the way he made me feel. And the way he still makes me feel. _ ”

Richie’s face went completely red. Oh how he had wished for Eddie to talk to him like that. How he had wanted to be that to someone, their heart and their soul. Ever since confessing his love, Eddie hadn’t stopped making Richie feel like a blubber of emotions. He complimented him left and right and even flirted at times. Both knew it wouldn’t lead to anything considering Eddie was still very dead. His body was still in the sewers of Derry, Maine, under piles of rubble of 29 Neibolt St. Only his spirit lived on, and Richie couldn’t even see him. He could only see what Eddie was doing, like when he took the pencil out of Richie’s hand to write something down. Yes, like a ghost, the pencil floated in midair.

“I wish we could have been able to try this,” Richie said, “You know, us. Do you think we could have worked if you weren’t stuck with me? Like if you would have lived, what would have happened?”

Eddie sighed, “ _ I don’t know. Maybe I would have gotten the confidence to tell you. I could have stood up for myself and divorced Myra. Part of me wanted to run away with you afterward. But I didn’t want to be a dick to Myra, you know? _ ”

“Yeah, I kind of feel bad for her. We didn’t even report your death to the police. We didn’t know how much you told her, so we just let you be missing.”

“ _ I don’t regret choosing you. I do wish we could have tried being in a relationship. Young Eddie wants that more than anything. Hell, dead Eddie wants it, too. It sucks that I can still feel and have emotions but I can barely act on them. I hate it. _ ”

Richie frowned, “I could say that we could try, but that would mean I’m dating a dead person, which is very weird.”

“ _ Yeah let’s not do that _ .”

“But…” Richie continued, “That doesn’t mean I’m moving on. I don’t want to. I have you in my grasp and that’s all I could want. You are by my side and that is all I could have ever wished for. It’s almost like we’re married, but not.”

Richie felt the hood of his sweatshirt move to one shoulder. He suspected Eddie was now laying on his shoulder, comforting him. He looked down to see his fingers spread out. Eddie was holding his hand, but he couldn’t feel or see it. He really wanted to.

“ _ Having you is all I could ever wish for, too _ .”

Then something hit Richie. He remembered something that he had read in the book Genieve had. It had escaped him for a while that this was possible. But if it was possible to kill an alien shapeshifter through bullying, than this had to work.

“ _ Let’s do it _ ,” Eddie said, reading his mind, “ _ I know it isn’t necessarily the greatest idea, but do it. For the first time, my emotions are controlling my wants. _ ”

Richie nodded, “Yeah, let’s do it.”

He got up and grabbed his wallet and keys. He went out to his car, then drove to Genevieve Drummond’s office.

“Mr. Tozier, this is an insane idea,” she said while they walked into her office, “I understand you two do know each other and knew each other very well when he was alive, but this is a major decision.”

“I would be able to see him, Ginny,” Richie tried to reason, “Isn’t that all? Only I would be able to see him, but that’s what I want. He wants it, too. I would be like he is actually there and not just in my mind. What major disaster would happen if I do this?”

Genevieve sighed and went over to the shelf, pulling out the book she had referenced during their first session, “I guess you are correct. But it may mess with your head.”

“I don’t give a fuck. Is there anything I need to do?”

The therapist shook her head and ducked behind her desk. She put a few jars of some unrecognizable substances. Richie winced of fright.

_ What do you think is in those jars, Eds? _

“ _ I don’t even want to know. It cannot be sanitary. _ ”

Richie rolled his eyes,  _ That’s always the first thing you think about, isn’t it? _

“ _ Yes. _ ”

Genevieve had everything set up, and gestured for Richie to join her at her desk. As soon as he got over there, she used a needle to prick his hand.

“Fuck…” He grabbed his hand and massaged the area. He sucked the blood to try and get it to stop bleeding.

“Stop doing that,” Genevieve said, “Squeeze some blood into that bowl,” she pointed to a black bowl at the center of the desk. Through gritted teeth, he let the crimson drip from his hand into the bowl. She told him when to stop by handing him with a bandage. He applied it as she finished the concoction, mixing the strange ingredients with his blood. She took a normal water bottle and poured some of it into the bowl. She made sure everything was completely liquid before handing the bowl to Richie and said, “Drink. It’ll taste like greywater but it’ll work.”

Richie snickered at her comparison, and so did Eddie. He took a deep breath and drank down the liquid, gagging as it went down this esophagus, “Ugh, you were not wrong.”

The room began to spin. Richie put his hand on the desk to stabilize himself. He clenched his eyes shut, trying to concentrate on one thought, but he couldn’t. The ill feeling seemed never ending.

He did eventually calm down. He took deep breaths, focusing on his heart rate. He finally got to the point where he could open his eyes, and he did. And to greet him was soft hazel eyes and a beautiful smile. God, Richie loved that smile.

Richie couldn’t hold back his happiness. A tear fell down his face as his grin widened to its fullest, “Eddie…”

Eddie was crying, too. He caressed Richie’s cheek and let out a sob, “Hey, Trashmouth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter to go!


	6. Chapter 6

“Hey!” Richie said into the microphone, the crowd cheering over his words, “How is everyone tonight?”

The crowd died down, and Richie began his show, “Now, forewarning, this show is going to be a little different than usual. Tonight, I want to get personal.”

A hollar came from the crowd, and Richie shook his head, “Not that kind of personal, lady. I mean that all of you wonderful people are going to know way too much about me as a child.”

Cheers immediately followed. Richie turned his head a little to Eddie, who was chuckling in the wings. He loved that he was able to see him. It made Richie feel like Eddie was still somewhat alive.

“Alright, alright,” Richie laughed and looked back to the crowd, “I am going to take you back to the olden days. Back when we had to rely on textbooks rather than the internet, when there was basically no adult supervision, and when you didn’t get suspended for underage smoking. I am taking us back to 1989.”

Laughs filled the auditorium. Richie peered down to the Losers in the front row. Mike sat next to Ben, who was linked-arms with Bev, who was sitting next to Bill who had his wife Audra on the very end to his left. At the end of the row was Patricia Uris, sitting in for her husband, Stan. 

“I was 13 in 1989,” Richie went on, “so, you know, I was all prepubescent with thick coke bottle glasses and an affinity for Hawaiian button-ups. I was maybe about here,” he put his hand by his oblique, “in height. And, yes, I am still just as nerdy.

“The summer of 1989 is one I will never forget. Remember how I said there was no such thing as adult supervision? Well, maybe I stayed at home all day for a total of 5 days all summer. Other times I was increasing my top score on Street Fighter or spending time outside with my friends. I know, shocker, right? Like, I played. Outside. I got tan lines. Kids don’t even know how to tan naturally anymore.”

He let the next set of laughs die down. Looking down at Bill, he said, “My summer would not have been as exciting as it was if it weren’t for Bill Denbrough. And, yes, I’m referring to William Denbrough, the horror author with the worst endings. Sorry, Bill, it had to be said. But, believe it or not, he and I grew up together. Yeah, I knew him when he was taller than me. That did not last long. Anyways, he dragged me and our other friends into the fucking sewers to play, and I am not joking. There was this entrance to the sewers by a creek on the outskirts of town and we  _ played  _ there. And do you know how gross that is? I didn’t care at the time, but you guys, we were splashing in greywater. Do you know what greywater is?”

“ _ Piss and shit. Millions of gallons of Derry pee. _ ”

Richie couldn’t hold back a chuckle, eyeballing Eddie before continuing, “If you don’t know, it’s everything flushed down the toilet in one place. It’s fucking gross. But, luckily, that’s not the only place we played. We also played in an abandoned house.”

He tried to talk over all of the laughs, “I’m not kidding! There was this dilapidated house on the corner of a street that we would play around. I mean, no one wanted to move close to that hellhole, so we had it all to ourselves. We stopped after our friend broke his arm there, though. Note to the wise, never bounce on the second floor of a building falling apart at the hinges.

“But we did have normal hang out as well. Our friend Ben had found this dug-out underground shack in the middle of the woods and redid it, just for us. We would go there to avoid the bullies, because, yes, we were all bullied. But more on that later. He reinforced the walls and made it nice and perdy, and it became our place. By the way, Ben is an architect now and owns this huge company. And he has a trophy wife in the gorgeous designer Beverly Marsh, who also grew up with us. But one of the best design pieces was a poster from  _ The Lost Boys  _ that Bill brought. Needless to say he was teased about it for a very long time.

“My favorite spot in the clubhouse was the hammock. I would lay in it and read comic books for hours, though we were supposed to have a 10-minute limit per person. The first time this happened, our friend argued for me to get out, but little old me was too stubborn and loved to poke fun at him. So, he wedged himself on and laid with me, his feet in my face. Now, you may think this was simply funny, which, yeah, it was. But for me, I like to call it, ‘Richie Tozier’s Sexual Awakening’, trademark.”

The crowd was silent at that point. Richie had just come out to hundreds of people. He looked down at his friends, who were giving him supportive smiles and thumbs-up. Eddie was smiling softly, his arms crossed and eyes filled with love. Richie was so lucky to have Eddie.

“Surprise!” Richie grinned, making jazz hands with his free hand, “I’m gay! Full on homo! And if some of you guys want to leave, that’s fine. We don’t want you here anyway!”

But no one left. In fact, most of them laughed at his suggestion. Richie began to ease up.

“It was rough being gay in the 80s and 90s,” Richie said in a lower tone, “You know, with the AIDS crisis and all. And being a gay 13 year old in small town New England? Totally unacceptable. One time, I was playing Street Fighter at the arcade with this boy I had never met before, but could not take my eyes off of. Turns out he was cousins with my bully and called me out for showing attraction towards him. I didn’t think I would ever be able to step inside the arcade ever again. But, Street Fighter kept calling my name.

“But back to the boy and the hammock. His name was Eddie. He was this short, thin kid who wore short shorts and a fanny pack that held all of his medications. He wasn’t really that sick, but his mom thought he was. But he was the most adorable boy I had ever laid eyes on. He was even cuter than Arcade Boy. And you wanna know how I flirted with him? I made ‘your mom’ jokes.”

Boisterous laughter overcame the crowd. Richie took the moment to think,  _ You think this is going well? _

“ _ Absolutely. Just keep it up, love. _ ”

“I moved away from my hometown not long after the summer of 1989. And it took me 27 years to go back to it, and not for a reason I enjoy. A friend of mine didn’t mention was Stan, aka the best person I have ever met. He was a Jew with a heart of gold and a meticulous brain. He always thought everything through. But apparently he hadn’t been too happy with his life and he killed himself. Us remaining friends went back to our miserable hometown to mourn him, but a lot of other stuff happened, too.

“Remember Eddie? Well, as a 40 year old adult, he was fucking sexy. He had gotten taller, but not as tall as me. His face had matured a lot, but he still had the biggest doe eyes I had ever encountered. He was even built and was in incredible shape. I can barely get through 5 pushups, but he could have bench pressed me if he wanted. I found myself falling in love with him all over again. But then he got into a car accident and was killed.”

Sad and unpleasant sounds filled the auditorium. Richie quickly wiped away a tear that he couldn’t hold back. Even though that’s not anywhere close to how brutal his death really was and Eddie’s spirit was standing in the wings at that moment, he felt the emptiness he had felt that day. He couldn’t help it.

“That was the only time I had felt true heartbreak. I have slept with so many people over the years. I have tried relationship after relationship and they kept failing. I was separated from the best people in the world for almost 30 years. And never in my life had I felt heartbreak like that. The one man I had ever truly loved was gone. Forever. And I don’t think I will ever get over that.”

He heard Eddie’s sobs in his mind. He turned to him, wanting to run up to him and hug him, to console him and himself. But Richie couldn’t. He was the only one in the whole world who could see and hear Eddie. He was the only one who could remotely touch him, but he still couldn’t feel him. But it was time for the pity party to stop. This was a comedy show, after all.

“But enough of that,” Richie put on a smile, “I still have 4 of the best friends I could have ever asked for. After the show tonight, we will definitely all go get wasted at some bar and reminisce about the good times. We’re adults, it’s what we do. But I would like to thank all of them for coming tonight. I know your schedule is tough, Bill, but it means a lot that you came. Ben, Bev, I know you guys are mostly just caught up in each other, but thanks for digging me out from the pits of your brains. Mike, this isn’t the most luxurious stop on your prolonged vacation, but you can buy merch at the front at the end of the show and gift all of your friends with souvenirs. Except me, of course. I don’t want my own merch. And, lastly, Patricia Uris. I know life without Stan must be the worst thing ever. I can barely imagine my childhood without him, but you and him fucked. That is intimacy on a whole other level. Thank you for being here, in his place.

“And how could I forget all the rest of you lovely people? Your money supports my career! No, but really, I wouldn’t be here without all of my fans. I know I’m no Eddie Murphy or John Mulaney, but I’m me. And I am done pretending to be anyone else other than that. So, thank you all for coming out and listening to this Trashmouth talk your ears off for way too long. From me and the rest of the Losers Club, goodnight!”

Richie bowed and ran off the stage as the crowd gave him a standing ovation. Eddie joined him as he went back to his dressing room, “I am so proud of you, Rich!” He gave him a quick hug as they walked, and Richie did his best not to react since people were still around.

Once they got to the dressing room, Richie closed the door behind them and took Eddie into a big embrace. It sucked that he couldn’t actually feel Eddie, but only be stopped by an empty force that was Eddie’s body. But Eddie could feel him, and he dug his head into Richie’s shoulder.

“I didn’t think I would be able to do it,” Richie confessed, “but I did. And they liked it.”

Eddie pulled back a little and gave that warm, contagious smile that Richie adored, “They  _ loved  _ it. And I did, too.”

Richie couldn’t hold his next words back even if he wanted to, “I love you, Eddie.”

“I love you, too,” Eddie went on his toes and pressed a kiss to Richie’s cheek, “Always and forever.”

Richie changed into a comfier outfit and went back out to the auditorium, taking the stairs that led to the seated area down to join the rest of the Losers Club, where they were waiting for him.

“We’re so proud of you,” Beverly said and she dragged Richie into a hug.

Mike spoke next, “Who knew a Trashmouth like you could have such inspiring words to say.”

Richie rolled his eyes and hugged him, too. He then turned to Bill, “Where’s Audra?”

“She got an Uber back to the hotel,” he replied, “she knew I was going to be out with you guys for a while longer.”

Ben patted Richie on the shoulder and hugged him as well. The comedian then turned to a blonde woman who was standing out of the way. Richie smiled.

“Hi, Patty.”

“Hello, Richie.” She gave him a small hug, but something distracted Richie as he was embraced.

“Stan…” Eddie said quietly, catching Richie’s attention.

_ Eds, what’s going on? _

“Beep beep, Rich,” he replied, “just ignore me for a minute.”

Richie and Patricia parted, and he noticed that she was caught off guard as well. Her eyes became glued to something. Richie followed her gaze and froze. He now knew why Eddie had beeped him.

Eddie was happily hugging another man. This man had curly dark locks and a plaid shirt and nice slacks, very different from Eddie’s disgusting white t-shirt and black hoodie. He had a thin face and glittering hazel eyes. It was basically impossible to recognize him.

_ Stan _ , Richie thought,  _ Is that you? _

With a nod, Stan replied, “Hey, Rich. Nice to see you got a good Angel at your side.”

It hit Richie,  _ You’re Patty’s Guardian Angel _ .

Stan nodded. He gazed over to his wife, who had tears running down her face. She could also see Eddie as Stan hugged him. Stan took the chance to properly introduce Eddie to her. Then, with one last wave goodbye, Stan and Eddie parted, and the former disappeared in an instant.

“I should be getting back to the hotel,” Patricia said, “Have a nice evening, all of you.” She waved and left.

“Alright, folks,” Richie announced to the Losers, “I say we hit up the closest bar we can find and stay there until they have to physically drag us out. Who’s with me?”

The group collectively agreed and they headed out. Richie trailed behind, and Eddie wrapped his arm around Richie’s waist. The latter leaned into him and smiled. The Losers were all back together, and Eddie was at his hip supportingly. What else could Richie Tozier have asked for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END! I hope you liked this short little story. Please check out my other IT works, and also my other works as well. Thanks for reading!


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